Five Times Poke Style
by Darkwood Princess
Summary: Five times Christine Chapel poked Bones and the one time he poked her.
1. Drink

**AN: My sister gave me the idea for this story. I love this pairing so much, even though it's not so common. XD**

**I own nothing, save the OCs I cherish and a copy of the Wrath of Khan.**

One

Leonard McCoy was drunk. It didn't happen too awful much, but well, it was Joanna's birthday and the Enterprise was nowhere near a place they could send subspace telegrams from. So Bones, as everyone knew him (but only the Captain could call him), was suitably upset. What kind of father didn't at least tell his kid happy birthday?

"The kind that you are, ya loser of a father." He muttered drowning another glass of Bourbon. The lights in his office were turned down low. No one knew he was even in here, not that many of the crewmen would care. To them he was the demon on the other end of a hypospray. Gamma shift had started, and only the instruments were there to keep him company. Even Jim didn't know what the significance of the day was, and Leonard wasn't about to tell him.

Some pains had to be suffered in peace.

An hour would pass before Bones was so thoroughly intoxicated that he wouldn't have know the woman in front of him from a Constitution class star ship.

Christine Chapel, head nurse of the Enterprise, had been up late working on a report that was due the following day. She had accidently forgotten one of the PADDs containing crucial data and was forced to come down to sickbay, only to find the door to her CMO's office cracked open and dim light spilling out. Curiosity got the better of her, until she heard the half-asleep mumblings.

"Shoulda … shoulda been a better father." She heard the voice slurr with that thick southern accent that only came out through sheer exhaustion.

"Dr. McCoy?" she poked her head through the door and found him slumped over his desk two bottles completely empty and a third half drained. A sigh escaped her lips as she tip toed over to him.

"Dr.?" she asked quietly, trying to wake him up.

No response.

"Dr. McCoy?"

Still no response.

Finally she did the only thing she could think of. She poked him. Hard.

Miraculously a bit of old fashioned poking woke him up some. After a quick hypospray filled with an anti-hangover medication, Christine managed to coax him out of his chair and to his couch. It was a good thing Captain Kirk had provided his easily work-aholic doctor with a place to rest in his office.

Lying there in the half-light dark hair falling over his eyes, Bones looked almost peaceful.

Maybe it was a trick of the light.

Christine left as quietly as possible.


	2. Witchdoctors

**AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Special thanks to everyone who got the Khan joke…XD I love the Wrath of Khan, he should be part of the alternate universe! This idea was yet again thought of by my sister, who I thank profusely for letting me borrow ideas from her so readily.**

**I don't own Star Trek, even though I wish I did!**

_By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. _

The old line from Macbeth, tickled the back of Christine's mind as she joined the away team on a mission to the planet known as Octaberus IV. She was rarely needed for these missions, rarely required to follow the Captain, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy into the dangers that so often killed their red shirted crewmen.

"Someday," she murmured darkly, " I think I'll write a paper on that. The death of men and women wearing a specific color." A loud thump brought her out of her musings. In front of her Mr. Spock stepped over the tentacle that had landed roughly on the path. Did the briefing she receive forget to mention that most sentient beings, including the war loving Klingons, avoided this planet because of the creatures that dwelled here? Nope. Not a word on it. She wouldn't have known had she not caught the late night holo-vid* on the Galactic Travel channel, one of the few channels they received out in uncharted space. Was it a wonder that crewmen brought five years worth of DVD's with them?

However that wasn't the point. The point was that the mission required both a doctor and nurse to attend to the injured, as well as a science officer to collect samples of some of the flora. Of course Captain Kirk would tag along too, since away missions were the stuff he lived for. Even on nightmare planets. Even when giant tentacles slapped the ground in front of them.

Even when it was Halloween.

Blame it on growing up in Louisiana, Chapel was superstitious. You didn't survive New Orleans and not come out without a certain amount of respect for the supernatural.

"Are you coming Chapel? Or are you gonna stare at the path for a half hour?" The gruff voice of her CMO called, pulling her out of the reverie that had yet again grasped her. She started slightly, realized the offending appendage had retracted itself, and hurried to catch up with the group.

Captain Kirk smiled at her and raised his shoulders apologetically, as if to say, 'It's Bone's he's always like this'. Didn't she know."So, are you two ready to treat the chief and his wife?" Kirk asked turning around and walking backward, so as to look at them all. A looming branch, hanging with a nasty moss nearly struck him in the back of the head, causing Dr. McCoy to snort with laughter and Spock to raise one of his infamous eyebrows.

"Jim, instead of being an idiot and getting yourself covered in slime before we even reach the god-blessed village, why don't you turn around and watch where you're going?" Bones asked, slightly irked with the sucking mud of the path, and the twilight gloom that pervaded the area.

Kirk smirked with a 'what fun would that be' smile, but turned around. After ten minutes more of walking, the group found themselves entering a village straight out of the times before electricity. Christine noted the thatched roofs and central fire, easily finding the chief's hut out of all the others. It was the largest of the huts, about twice the size of any one building, and painted a dark umber color.

Children and adults ran out to greet them, one of the children even going so far as to hug Mr. Spock. Christine tried not to smile as Kirk struggled not to bust out laughing at the sight. Spock did not like children. Not in the least little bit. They were noisy, messy, and more emotional than any of the crewmen, McCoy included. The oldest child, a girl of seventeen, with dark brown hair and sorrowful eyes, introduced herself as Chieftain Poethorne's daughter. Virginia, as she introduced herself , led them into the hut and to the beds of her parents, both resting in the smoky half-light.

Bones immediately ran his tricorder over them, as Christine leaned down next to him. The next few minutes were spent discovering the illness affecting the husband and wife. This society seemed never to have seen modern medicine, as the disease Chieftan Poethorne and his wife Anabelle were suffering from was simply the flu. A hypo later, the two were coming around and thanking their rescuers. Dr. McCoy took the moment to explain to them how they could prevent disease from spreading in their village and Christine, drawn by the beckoning of a child, curiously left the hut and followed the little one, a boy of only ten years.

"I'm Prospero." He mumbled shyly. "Your cap'n is playin wit the others and I needed help getting somtin from that hut." The boy pointed to the farthest building. "I left Monty in there, Monty's my stuffed bear. The other guy was busy, the one wit the pointy ears, so I thought you could helps me!" a radiant smile melted Christine's heart. Children were a weakness of hers. And ever since Roger…

"I'd be delighted to help you Prospero." Christine held the little boy's hand as the two made it over to the hut. As soon as she got close, warning bells started going off in her head. There was what suspiciously looked like snake skin hanging off the roof, and there, was that a string of chicken bones? But Prospero's encouragement and smile, helped her enter the darkened room.

"Where's your teddy Prospero?" she asked, as the gloom started to get to her. She could make out bottles in the gloom, and floating in them, well, she wasn't going to take a closer look. Prospero quickly located the toy and the two rushed out into the half light. However, on the way out, Christine accidently knocked over something. A broom clattered to the ground, and, without thinking, she left it there.

They wrapped up business within the next hour. The Chieftain and his wife were well enough to come out to send them off, and everything was going fine until a figure stepped out of the forest. Clad in cobwebs and rotting cloth, draped with the bones of animals, the witch like figure stepped up to the hut Christine had entered earlier. The figure disappeared inside and the came out, waving a thin wand of wood. A feeling of uneasiness settled in the stomachs of all of the landing party.

"Who's this?" Jim asked, indicating the woman who was now chanting under her breath. The Cheiftain looked surprised, but not shocked. Bad news in anyone's book. That was when the witch let out a shriek and gabbled in a language foreign even to Spock.

"This is the witchdoctor Orwen. She says one of your own disturbed her hut and that she has placed a curse on that person. The curse will reveal itself and can only be broken once the trespasser has caused one of you suitable annoyance. Pay her no mind. She is old and we tolerate her, but she is not dangerous." Chieftain Poethorne nodded at the crew and smiled as the beamed up, Christine feeling far worse for wear.

Once safely aboard the Enterprise, Kirk gave all of them a close look. "Okay guys, who messed with the witchdoctor's stuff?" Bones shook his head muttering something about curses being stupid, and Spock just shook his head no.

"Nurse Chapel?" Kirk asked, giving her an understanding look. Christine nodded. "I was helping a little boy retrieve a toy. He only told me it was left in the hut and not what the hut was or who it belonged to. I must've knocked something over or messed something up. I'm sorry sir." She stared at her shoes for a moment, expecting to be told off by both Dr. McCoy and her captain.

"Look Christine, it could've happened to anyone." Bones surprised her, patting her shoulder. "It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened. Besides, none of us believe in curses anyway."

"Indeed." Spock nodded. "It would be illogical to believe in something spirit bound affecting the world of the living."

Jim just offered her a smile and some advice, " Next time we're on an away mission, just don't go near the huts, okay?" she nodded her affirmative and Jim grinned wider. "Excellent, now if you all don't mind, I have a Halloween party to go prepare for alright? And I'll expect all of you there later," he gave Spock and Bones stern looks, "No excuses."

"Captain I,"

"Jim, there's,"

"Nope. No excuses. And you wear costumes. It's for the good of morale. With all of the random stuff we see in space, someone's gotta let us all unwind sometimes." And with that Kirk walked briskly out of the transporter room, leaving Christine with a ticked off Bones and a brooding Spock.

A half hour later Christine found herself pulling on the white dress and boots, and pulling her hair into the cinnamon bun style. Ever since she was a little girl, Star Wars had been one of her favorite holo-movies. And where so many of the girls in her hometown had fallen for the sweet, gentlemanly Luke, she personally had loved the quarrelsome Han, with his gruff comebacks and sarcastic remarks.

"Hmm… Doesn't that remind me of someone." She murmured, pulling on the belt that went with the outfit and making her way down to sickbay to retrieve the Dr. she knew would be hiding behind work. It was only when she was in the sickbay itself did she realize he wasn't in his office, that and her fingers were trembling. In particular one finger, and it was more like a twitch. But it wasn't important at the moment and as soon as she thought about it, the finger quit. Curses and witchdoctors floated to her mind, but she wasn't about to worry about something silly like that.

"Dr. McCoy?" she called out to the sickbay in general, standing in the empty room. It was a moment before the echo greeted her.

"In here! What is it?" She knew automatically that he was in the supply room at the far end of sickbay. Walking over, she found Bones, but not what she expected. He was wearing a long flowing cloak, a close fitting vest and a half mask. A memory floated to her mind of visiting theaters as a child and loving one production out of them all. The Phantom of the Opera. Dr. McCoy was dressed as the Phantom. "What Chapel? What'dya need?" His voice was exasperated and he turned around with a slight huff.

His eyes took in the outfit and a smile fought to take over his face. "Right Princess," he drawled in a manner reminiscent of those characters she had loved so long ago, "What do you want?"

Chapel swallowed as she tried not to think about how that voice sent shivers up her spine and realized again that her finger was twitching. What the heck? She focused, about to tell him she'd come to retrieve him when the door to the storage room slammed shut behind them. The lights went out and she heard Bones swearing softly.

"What the hell?" The floor shifted suddenly and Christine jolted forward, as an arm protectively encircled her waist. "Easy there Christine, and ow? Why are you poking me?" Her finger had started it again, that infernal twitching that, now that she thought about it, was actually a poking motion.

"I'm sorry Doctor," she muttered miserably, " I seem to have developed a twitch in my fingers." She poked him hard again. She was so embarrassed and the ship jolted again, jabbing her finger into his side. Despite this, he pulled her tighter, trying not to let her get tossed into the cabinets in front of them.

"First off, it's Leonard after hours Christine. Second, finger twitches? I've never even heard of that before. And trust me I've heard of a lot." His voice in her ear distracted her to no end and the twitching stopped for a moment. That's when it hit her.

"The curse." She moaned as the ship tossed them again.

"Huh," was the confused reply as one of the cabinets flew open and the contents hit both of them.

"It only happens when I'm not thinking. And it's supposed to cause annoyance. I touched the witchdoctor's possessions and now she's determined to punish me." Christine really was miserable. McCoy was silent for a moment, thinking it over. That was when she started poking him again.

"Damn that's annoying!" he swore, his thought process interrupted.

Suddenly everything stopped. The lights came back on, the door slid open, and the floor stopped heaving. Christine blinked in the sudden light and Bones looked bewildered.

Slowly he let go of her and straightened his shirt. A comm to the bridge a moment later revealed that the ship had not encountered turbulence and that there was no record of sickbay losing power or control to the doors. A curse that was meant to be broken by sheer annoyance fell apart at the sound of the word, just as curses for eons had.

Only one thing had changed. Leonard McCoy now believed in curses.

**AN: * I don't know what trek television is called. In Star Wars it's the holo-net, so I kinda just assumed it was the same stuff. Of course we all know what assuming gets you... ^.^**

**Reviews are love! Flames are not. Most definitely.**


	3. Libraries

**AN: Uhm, this chapter was also inspired by my sister. I swear if she didn't give me ideas to write about I'd be nowhere. This takes place before the crew was on the Enterprise, during their Academy days. I like to think that Bones and Chapel were there at the same time. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything, nope, not even Trek… **

Christine Chapel was not one of _those_ students, the kind that everyone knows at least one of. These students are the kind that party nonstop, arrive at class hung over, and spend hours on Spacebook. No, she was the kind that had few friends, studied on weekends, and almost lived in the library.

Which, as soon as she had thrown on her jeans and hoodie, she would be headed there anyways. Christine rarely slept in, the classes she took prevented that, but today she must have missed the alarm clock entirely. A groggy look at her bedside chronometer declared the time ten o'clock in the morning, far past her usual eight a.m.

Last night's shift had been particularly hard. Usually she worked with Dr. Puri, a nice man of Indian descent, but last night she had been assigned to Dr. M'Benga, a specialist on Vulcans who spoke little, making it hard to anticipate what the laconic man wanted. She had spent an extra two hours last night trying to make sense of his Spartan notes. It wasn't that she didn't like him, just that she wished he'd provide a little more information than the words 'broken, arm, fix'. That could mean so many things that it wasn't even funny.

She quickly pulled her hair into a clip, slipped on her tennis shoes, and left the room, snagging a banana on the way out. Mornings were always harder when her routines were interrupted, and sleeping in surely counted as an interruption of routine.

San Francisco fog obscured the path in front of her, but, by carefully avoiding the Bay paths, she made it to the library safely, slipping through the large front doors with a smile. Her smile disappeared when she noticed every table in the room, save one, was occupied and that the one already had a cadet's books and papers strewn across it. Since there was no other option, Christine carefully placed her bag next to the spare chair at the table and gently pushed a book on Andorian Physiology and Anatomy out of the way.

It took her all of three minutes to realize she needed a book (this library was proud of its print selection) that wasn't on her PADD, so she stood up and headed off in the direction of the medical section of the library where _Bloodstone's Xenobiology_ was sure to be found. When she arrived at her shelf she noticed that another student, whose arms were piled high with books, was standing in her way.

He was at least a foot taller than her, with dark hair and a trim figure. One hand steadied the pile in his arms, while the other skimmed the books in front of him. A pair of headphones covered his ears, and the volume was cranked up so loud that Chapel could hear the medical tapes being read out loud. She politely waited for a minute, hoping the student would turn around and get the hint or move off on his own.

He didn't.

So she tapped his shoulder.

The man ignored her.

She tapped his shoulder again.

He still ignored her.

This time she poked him hard, jabbing him with her finger.

Leonard McCoy spun around to stare at the diminutive figure in front of him. With his free hand, he pulled his headphones off and fixed Christine with a glare. "What do ya want?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

Christine found that she knew the man glaring at her like she was some kind of new virus. Dr McCoy was known to be foul tempered, cantankerous, and brilliant. As hazel eyes pinned her in place, Christine found that she was going to have to agree with everything she'd heard the other nurses complain about.

"I was just going to ask you to move, since I need the copy of _Bloodstone's Xenobiology_ that you're standing in front of." She replied, wishing he would just step aside and allow her to get her book.

"Really? And that required you to jab me in the shoulder?" was the sarcastic remark. Christine didn't take lightly to people being rude, least of all people who had no right being rude in the first place.

"Yes, it did, since you were standing there, ignoring me, with your head stuck in Tellerite biology!" she answered, poking him hard in the chest. McCoy stumbled backwards, more out of surprise than anything, especially since she hadn't even pushed him that hard. His books went flying everywhere and he hit the shelf, swearing up a storm as he fell. Christine felt bad for knocking the books everywhere.

What happened next made her feel worse.

The bookshelf behind McCoy tilted at an odd angle and crashed backwards, knocking into the one behind it, starting a domino effect that knocked down seven shelves and a cart. Luckily no one was in those shelves at the moment. Unluckily, one James T. Kirk, who had decided to give the library a try for once, walked in, saw the falling shelves, and promptly walked out, never to darken the door with his shadow again.

The librarian looked stunned, but no more stunned than Leonard McCoy, sitting in a pile of books and broken wood.

It was one heck of a way to make a first impression.

**AN: Hope this was okay! Reviews are love, and can be used to repair bookshelves…^.^**


	4. Exercise

**AN: This one was inspired by an idea my sister had. Personally I think, Nu!Kirk probably has some of the same weaknesses as the old one. Including a love of sweets and food that errs on the side of unhealthy. **

He was shouting again, not that that was anything new.

"That colossally stupid, imbecilic, moronic kid!" The rest of sickbay ignored the outburst, already used to weathering the mercurial temper of their Chief Medical Officer. Most weeks did not go by without at least one outburst. "Does he know how bad his diet is?" Ah, one had to love the yearly physicals, which, unfortunately, had a new section added by Starfleet Medical.

A diet section.

So it was now painfully obvious that the Captain of the Fleet flagship was eating what any sane person, except the Captain himself, would consider junkfood. The list was full of potato chips, fried onion rings, hamburgers, chocolate bars, ice cream, fudge, and, worst of all, a list of every cake known to man, but most prevalently dark German Chocolate cake. And it wasn't that he ate all of this in moderation. No, he was eating it at a rate that was alarming, at least 5 bags of two pound chips every three weeks and if his metabolism slowed down even slightly, the Captain was going to gain at least 100 pounds in less time than it had taken to defeat Nero.

"God, that idiot's going to get diabetes! He's going to gain 1,000 pounds! He's going to become immune to sugar!" the ranting went on, as Dr. McCoy read through the list for the third time that day. "Who even needs to eat fried Oreos? How the hell does the replicator make fried Oreo's anyway?"

Christine Chapel had been trying to concentrate. She was in no mood to be patient. This inventory of 3,562 tongue depressors, bandages, and assorted hypos was not going to do itself or so she had been told by one grouchy Dr. McCoy. Now said doctor was interrupting her concentration continuously. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5…23…52.."

"Good lord, what's a Gulab Jamun? And why is the caloric intake listed as XXX?"

Chapel started over again. "1, 2… 29…36…73…94…110…"

"ARGH! Where's the kid's common sense!"

"1…13…22…"

"I swear I'm gonna put him on a diet!"

That was it. She had tried counting this pile seven times in the last half an hour. Christine stood up from her desk, stomped right over to Dr. McCoy, and poked him in the back of the head. Hard. He whirled and was about to start on her when he noticed her expression.

It was _that look_.

It was the look Christine got when pushed too hard in one of their arguments, the look she got when someone insulted her friends or bullied her nurses, the look that screamed _back the frig off_.

"If you really want to stop the Captain from gaining weight," she smiled sweetly in an almost scary way, "then make him exercise, force him to eat salad, alter his food card. But don't," and here her voice lost the sweet quality, "don't take it out on us! It's not our fault the Captain isn't sensible enough to take care of himself! "

McCoy frowned at her but took the hint. "Okay then Chapel, what's your suggestion on getting Jim to exercise. I can't get him to come down to sickbay for a physical, how the hell am I going to get him to hit the gym?" He glared at her as if it was still her fault that the Captain was addicted to fast food and even faster carbs.

"Oh I have an idea."

XXX

Jim was just coming off the bridge from Alpha shift when he saw it. A piece of thick frosted, well endowed, drowned in chocolate syrup, chocolate chip studded German Chocolate cake. And it was just laying there on a plate, as if it were waiting for him.

"Who am I to turn down free cake?" he muttered with a grin, bending over to reach for the plate. He had almost grabbed it when something odd happened.

The cake moved.

Or more importantly the plate moved.

Curious, Jim followed the cake as it rolled down the hallway. Apparently the plate was motorized, probably one of Scotty's odd inventions. He followed it as it rolled into a turbo lift. Thinking that now he had it, Jim rushed for the lift only for it to close on him. Impatiently tapping his feet, Jim waited for the lift to return.

"Computer, last known stop of Lift 5 prior to this floor." Jim asked as he walked into the lift.

"Deck 7, sir."

"Take me to Deck 7." Jim waited with growing curiosity as he descended. As soon as the doors opened, there it was, waiting for him. Jim ran forward, only to find it roll away again, down the hall, and into a room.

Rushing after it, he noticed neither the plaque on the door denoting the room as "Exercise Room 17" nor the door locking behind him. All Jim knew as he pounced on the plate was that he had the desert and it was sweet!

Ten minutes later he discovered the trap.

"If you want out of there Jim, you gotta exercise for at least an hour." Bones smirked at Jim from the com panel on the wall. Doctor's orders." Jim was about to growl out a couple serious invectives, mostly words he had learned as a child from his stepfather, when he noticed who else was backing McCoy up. Behind him stood Head Nurse Chapel and … Mr. Spock?

"Captain, after reviewing your replicator record, the Doctor has convinced me that your caloric intake is most illogical and quite unhealthy. You need to participate in a regular exercise routine and I believe it is well within the Chief Medical Officer's boundaries to prescribe you one."

"Don't make me prescribe you one Jim."

In other words, 'exercise more'.

"Crud."

Chapel smiled and Jim gained an exercise routine.


	5. Dance

**AN: So uhm, gee I haven't updated this in a while. This is still my favorite pairing, so here's the next chapter! I don't own La Vie En Rose, that belongs to Louis Armstrong. Oh and hey, anyone who really loves this pairing, please write more! 3 **

Christine Chapel hated dances. Hated them with a passion. So why was she patiently nursing a Ginger Ale while the band on this planet attempted "La Vie En Rose" while wearing a dress that she only owned because of Janice, Nyota, and Gaila?

Well, it was because of Janice, Nyota, and Gaila.

" 'Come on Chris, get out, you'll have some fun. Come on Chris, you'll love this planet. Come on Chris, you do enjoy shore leave right? Come, on you never wore that dress we bought you!' Bah," she mumbled, watching as Nyota danced gracefully with Spock and Gaila effortless danced a green streak around the clueless Mr. Scott. The man knew his engines, but he did not know a slow dance. Then again, neither did Gaila, judging by the odd looks they were receiving. But they were having fun. Unlike her.

" Ah come on, Chris. It's not that bad." Next to her, Janice Rand sipped a drink that was entirely too pink. Christine wanted to warn her about the dangers of odd beverages but decided that, well, she _was_ on shore leave and her friend was old enough to know that drinking too many Denebian Slime Devils was bad for you.

" Helloooo Ladies, enjoying the planet?" a loud and entirely too familiar voice could be heard over the sound of the trumpets crooning out the old Earth melody. One Captain James T. Kirk swaggered up to them, looking as handsome in his civilian clothes as he did in uniform. Or at least that's what Christine knew Janice would say had she not blushed furiously at the Captain's appearance.

"Okay," Christine muttered, pulling the pink drink away from her, "No more Denebian Slime Devils for you."

Unfortunately the Captain wasn't quite alone.

" Damn it Jim, do you have to be so loud?" The less than enthusiastic response of Leonard McCoy was to be expected. He hated being dragged to social functions by Jim, embarrassed in front of co-workers, and distracted by his beautiful head nurse, who by the way was wearing a rather attractive red dress.

_"Wait a minute, I did not just think that." _ McCoy thought, rubbing his head sheepishly as Jim pulled Janice onto the dance floor, leaving him with the woman he had just been almost-ogling. She tossed him a commiserating look that said 'you too huh?' and tried not to think about how Janice could keep Jim, all she really wanted was the dark haired man sitting next to her, the man who was studiously staring at his feet, his hands, and the dance floor: everywhere but at her.

After a minute of this treatment, Christine grew both tired and bold. Why couldn't she have fun too? Why did she have to be lonely? It wasn't like Roger or Jocelyn hadn't moved on. _"Oh, ouch, probably should not have thought of that one, but what the heck, why not?" _

So carefully, after working up all of her courage, Christine Chapel poked the rather grumpy, rather distracted, and rather caring Dr. McCoy in the side and watched as he nearly jumped about a foot in the air.

"Damn it Chris! What was that for?"

"I never took you for the wallflower type Len. Why don't you get up and dance with me." _Please say yes._

For a moment silence, and then...

He gently took her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.

Spinning around the room slowly with the man of her dreams, La Vie En Rose became Christine's new favorite song.


	6. Worries

**AN: So this story was one of my earlier stories and, unsurprisingly, I think my writing style has changed. At least a bit. So I apologize if this chapter is different from the ones before. Here is the final chapter! Oh and yet again, this was inspired by a conversation with my little sister.**

Leonard McCoy had a tendency to worry. It wasn't the worst tendency to have, at least as far as his fellow shipmates were involved. He could have had a reckless streak (like Jim), a problem with shyness (like Chekov), a tendency to misunderstand others (oh, Spock), or any other myriad other issues (Scotty and his love affair with inanimate objects, Sulu with his horticultural obsession, Uhura and her need to prove herself). So in the grand scheme of things a tendency to worry was at least a step above a tendency to atmosphere jump onto Romulan drills or misunderstand common standard phrases.

Of course when one was supposed to be asleep at night, a tendency to worry came back to bite a person in the backside. Especially when he was worrying for once about himself and not about his captain or the crew. Well, that wasn't exactly true, he was worrying about his relationship with one particular member of the crew. One who was asleep right next to him.

Leonard turned over slowly, careful not to jostle Christine too much. His wife of a little over a year was breathing peacefully, her chest rising and falling slowly in the half-light created by a padd that one or the other of them had forgotten to turn off. It had taken a while to get used to someone else living in his quarters again, and just a bit longer for him to adjust to any person other than the Captain being privy to the nightmares that seemed to plague him when his worries got more than a little too much for one over-taxed Chief Medical Surgeon.

This brought him back to the subject of his worrying: Christine. Or more precisely the thought of losing her. It didn't matter how often he told himself that less than .001 percent of women actually died of childbirth anymore, he couldn't stop himself from imagining all of the terrifying scenarios. Besides those women weren't Head Nurses on the galaxy's most danger prone ship. They didn't have to deal with the force of nature that was Jim Kirk and his ability to attract everything from renegade Romulans to angry Tholians. That wasn't the worst of it though, what if he turned out to be a worse father to this child than he was to Joanna? He didn't exactly have the best parental track record and it scared him more than he liked to think, the idea that he could push away anyone who ever cared with a few well-placed words. Or a few too many drinks…

Before he realized what he was doing, Leonard was softly poking Christine in the side, careful to avoid her ever growing belly. Groggy blue eyes opened slowly, focusing on him quickly once she realized what was happening. "Len, bad dreams again?" Her question was slowly becoming rote, but he didn't mind. There had to be at least one person in your life that you could unburden your soul to, right?

"More or less. Chris, what if-" his words were slow too, as if he couldn't bring himself to utter the possibility, even in the relative safety of his cabin with a woman that he loved so much it hurt.

"What if?" She asked him softly, wrapping her arms around his still frame.

"What if I lost you?" The gruff words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh Len." She breathed the words against his skin, hugging him closer. "You won't. You should know better than others how stubborn I can be. Think about how long it took for us to finally realize how we felt." He chuckled against his will at the memory of a little over three years of avoiding the truth, of fighting emotions that he had thought long gone with Jocelyn. "Do you really think I would let you go now?"

Leonard sighed at her reassurance, ready to fire back with all the ways destiny could deem it fit to part them, when Christine kissed him gently.

And for once he let the worrying go and just enjoyed the moment.

**AN: So this is done and I'm kinda sad. I'm terrible at writing romance, so this is about as good as it gets. Reviews are love, guys and gals!**


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